


I Think of a King at Nightfall

by la_faerie



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Episode Related, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_faerie/pseuds/la_faerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Kenna clears her throat, as a pesky lump seems to be forming there. “I always thought marriage was about securing a title, wealth, fabulous jewelry,” she says. “It didn’t really occur to me that honesty would factor into the relationship.”</i>
</p>
<p>Kenna and Bash work through the different ways to communicate with each other as husband and wife. Takes place during and just after 1x19, from Kenna's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think of a King at Nightfall

**Author's Note:**

> Like the summary says, this is almost like a coda to episode 1x19. I personally wanted a little more insight into what Bash was thinking when he saw Francis and Mary kissing, and I was also craving Kenna's perspective on all of it, so here we are.
> 
> Just a touch of angst here, mostly from Bash's side, because we know Kenna doesn't waste time with moodiness. And the ending is 100% fluff.
> 
> The title is from TS Eliot's Little Gidding.

Kenna has just finished brushing out her hair and is doing up her dress when Bash bursts back into their chambers, letting the heavy door slam behind him. She startles, but quickly sees that he isn’t angry. He’s in some kind of frenzy, stripping off his shirt, reaching out for her, and kissing her like he’s a drowning man and she’s his last gasp of air.

She gives as much back to him with the kiss as she can, although it takes her a moment to match his intensity and frenetic pace. She plays it lightly when he picks her up, but, even as she’s enjoying the easy way he can lift her and throw her down, Kenna notices the line of tension Bash is carrying in his shoulders and the troubled look in his eye. 

Bash generally has a hunted look about him, with his dark brow and shadows underneath his eyes. Sons of kings grow up with targets on their backs, but a king’s bastard quickly learns that his type of target is wholly different from that of a Dauphin. For, no one much cares if a bastard child were to die, except that it sends a message to the king, scares him a little bit. The business of survival is exhausting when it becomes a game that no one else is invested in.

This is something Kenna can identify with, the lonely fight to survive in a castle that is populated with strangers pretending to be your friend, and so-called friends who might as well be strangers. Sometimes, when Bash is sleeping—the anxious creases on his forehead all smoothed out—Kenna looks at him and lets herself imagine that they might one day feel close to each other because of this.

But this evening, with Bash on top of her and kissing down her neck, something is a little bit different with him. Kenna strokes a hand up the back of his neck and pulls at his hair, getting his attention. Bash pulls his mouth away from her skin. He’s breathing hard, and he braces himself over top of her so that he can look her in the eye. She sees it there again, that troubled look, as though his bright eyes have clouded over. Kenna can’t help but think of dark hair and big eyes that so often seek out Bash’s help. Mary is her friend and her Queen, but she’s also a storm that Bash can’t seem to shake off.

That’s when Kenna makes a decision. She runs her hand over his cheek, learning his face, learning how to touch her husband to get his attention. She runs a hand through the trail of stubble that marks his jawline, memorizing the way his face looks right now at this turning point between them. She asks him if she’s the only one with something to forget. 

Kenna speaks to her husband and ends by saying, “I want you to always remember what it feels like to be with your _wife_.”

Sex has been a lot of different things for Kenna: something fun, an escape, a way to feel powerful in herself. Something to be done with a man, something to be done with another woman. And, in the end, something done under duress. 

But it has never before been something done with her husband, with a true partner. Kenna wraps her legs around Bash’s hips, signaling once and for all that she’s ready to be his wife in this way. 

But he somehow escapes her grasp and shimmies down the bed. Bash looks her directly in the eyes, raises an eyebrow like this might be a diverting game, and then sets to work. He starts just above her knee, placing light kisses to the sensitive skin of her inner-thigh. He works his way upward at a slow pace, and the touch of his mouth is barely-there, his breath lingering over her skin, making her break out in goose flesh.

“You’re such a horrible tease,” she hisses at him, even as she shivers with anticipation.

“I’ll make a note that, during future occurrences, you’d prefer to waste no time.”

“Presumptuous!” Kenna cries, aiming for a snarky tone but it mostly sounds like a gasp, as Bash strokes his fingers up her thigh making his way slowly towards her clit. 

She isn’t the only one affected. Bash’s voice has taken on a husky tone, and his eyes are burning with that same intensity that brought him bursting into the room earlier. But Bash smiles at her. It’s only a small smile, one corner of his mouth turning up, but, with it, he seems to offer a sense of normalcy. It seems to be a promise that this can be okay for the two of them, that Kenna can enjoy herself like this without dire consequences.

Then, it’s not just Bash’s fingers on her, it’s his mouth, too. She feels the brush of his stubble in a new way now, the intimate friction of it deliciously rough against her skin, and she knows it will leave marks on her thighs later. Bash’s mouth is hot on her clit, and then right where she’s wettest, right at her core. 

Kenna closes her eyes and wills herself to believe the truth of the promise that his smile seemed to offer as she gives herself over entirely.

 

Later, after they’ve both come, Kenna has to admit that she didn’t know what to expect, but she’s pleased that Bash lasted long enough to make sure she came first from his mouth and his fingers, and then again with him inside her. 

Now they’re lying next to each other, but not touching. Kenna quietly observes her husband, learning how he looks after sex: his hair drooping across his forehead and a pink flush spread all down his neck and his chest. The sight is not unappealing. She plays absentmindedly with the edge of the sheets, wondering what he thinks of her appearance right now, a sheen of sweat still visible across her collarbone, and her hair wild around her.

They’re both quiet for a little while longer, then Bash huffs out a little sigh like he’s irritated with himself. He leans up on his elbow and looks at Kenna. His eyes have that overcast look again. “I should tell you…” He starts and then trails off. 

_Oh dear_ Kenna thinks. “You can tell me anything you like,” she says.

Bash takes a deep breath. “It’s about Francis and Mary. I accidentally stumbled across them earlier. It’s a bit embarrassing because, well, they were kissing. You might call it a passionate embrace.” Bash’s tone is bone-dry, and Kenna wonders if he’s working hard to keep it that way, what it costs him to keep his emotions buried right now.

She sits up and leans back against the headboard. “You saw this before you came back here to our rooms?”

“Yes, just before,” he admits it. “It was strange, I felt jealous,” he shrugs one of his shoulders. “That’s to be expected, I suppose. But it wasn’t as sharp as usual. It was blunted by my realization that _we_ have what Francis and Mary have. We could embrace like that in public if we wanted to.” He gives a laugh. “It sounds obvious, of course we’re married. But it’s hard to believe that we’re married and that,” he looks to her then, as though checking that what he’s saying is alright with her, “we’re okay with being married.”

“Yes, the King’s bastard, and the King’s discarded mistress. Clearly it’s a perfect match!” She jokes and laughs a little too sharply because he’s still looking at her seriously, and it’s hard to know quite how to handle that.

“I wanted to be honest with you,” Bash presses on in earnest. “And I’m sorry if I alarmed you when I rushed back in here. I had so many emotions swirling in my head, I didn’t know what to do with myself except kiss you. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Kenna is quiet, still playing with the sheets. A joke won’t do this time. He’s being open with her, and she takes a moment to collect herself before being the same with him.

“When I was with your father,” Kenna looks at him, and Bash doesn’t break eye contact, “towards the end, it seemed like his eyes were turning black. I thought I was imagining it, I thought I was going mad. Then I realized his eyes looked so dark because they were blank. His mind had actually altered. The other women he hurt and killed,” Kenna pauses with a little shudder. “It didn’t even register with him, what he had done to them. I saw the vacancy in his eyes, and I knew he could do the same to me, and hardly even take notice.”

Bash sits up now, facing her and taking both of her hands in his own. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Kenna shakes her head. She’s not looking for sympathy. “That’s the kind of thing that frightens me, Bash. Watching the sanity drain out of someone’s eyes. So, you see, when you come back to our chambers with a storm brewing in your eyes, it’s different. I know it’s because something’s going on inside that head of yours. That isn’t scary to me. It makes me curious. It makes me want to share in what’s happening with you, which isn’t necessarily something I’m used to feeling towards you.”

Bash gives her another one of his crooked little grins, the corner of his mouth turned up. “That’s why I told you about Mary. It may not be the easiest subject for us to talk about, but, more and more, I find myself wanting to be open with you.”

Kenna clears her throat, as a pesky lump seems to be forming there. “I always thought marriage was about securing a title, wealth, fabulous jewelry,” she says. “It didn’t really occur to me that honesty would factor into the relationship.”

Bash is still grinning at her, so she gives his hands a squeeze, and he squeezes back. That’s when Kenna gives Bash a real smile: small, a little bit shy, her teeth just peeking through. 

They drop hands and both settle back against the headboard, pulling the sheets up around themselves in a little cocoon.

“Tell me more about our house,” Kenna insists. “It isn’t fair that you’ve already seen it when I have not.”

Bash gives a genuine laugh then. “It’s only because I don’t want you to see it as a mess. I want you to see it when it’s all done up in a state of resplendency!” Bash throws his hands out dramatically, and Kenna smacks him in the chest. 

“I’m serious, you must tell me more details so that I can begin to imagine my — our life there.”

Bash gives a nod and settles into a more serious tone. “The bedchambers are smaller than what we have here, although there’s enough space for you to have your own private rooms if you wish. The really nice thing is that there’s a window in the master bedroom with the most incredible view. We’re on a little hillside so, when you look out, it seems as though all of France is right before us. I swear I can see nearly to the Pyrenees.”

“Impossible!” Kenna smacks his chest again. “That’s much too far away. You mustn’t give me false ideas about what to expect.”

“Kenna, I wouldn’t,” Bash says earnestly, turning to look at her. She can see that his eyes are shining again, and it’s as though she could almost see a vision of sunny France in them. “You’ll experience the view for yourself,” he assures. “It will be yours every day.”

Kenna curls up in bed, and Bash does the same. Their shoulders brush as they make themselves comfortable, and Kenna breathes out as she realizes that it’s okay. She can touch her husband in many different ways. She can communicate with him through sex, and through openly talking, and small touches like this in bed, and all of it is okay.

There are differences between fathers and sons, and the difference with Bash is that his emotions and his temper aren’t a method of blocking her out, of making her feel small and insignificant. When Bash bursts into the room with a roiling storm in his eyes, it’s an invitation for Kenna to share, perhaps to help, to soothe. And it works both ways, for he proved to her earlier, that he is willing to go to work for her pleasure.

Kenna closes her eyes, feeling pleasantly sleepy now after so much exertion, both physical and otherwise. In her mind’s eye, she no longer sees a suffocating blankness, a menacing vacancy. The threat has been swept away by the vision of an open window, where she can stand if she chooses to, and look at all of France stretching out before her.

 

_fin_.


End file.
